


The Orange Nightfall Fire

by James_Usari



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 10:20:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24469387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/James_Usari/pseuds/James_Usari
Summary: Standing amidst the burning Notre Dame cathedral, Aziraphale dispairs, but Crowley teaches him that all things, even transient things, have value.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7
Collections: Name That Author Round Four





	The Orange Nightfall Fire

Aziraphale was shocked and horrified by the manner in which evil had corrupted an otherwise heavenly evening. The evening, with its orange-pink flow, covered by the silken coolness of the coming night, and penetrated by the smell of crackling fire, was always the domain of good. It was the last light before the silent dark.

The orange glow against the evening sky was caused not by the sun, but by large spires of flame leaping skyward. The cool came from the fireman’s hose, the petrichor thereby caused fighting with the smell of burning, smoke rising from the last cinders visible on the cathedral’s collapsed spike-like crossbeams. In the middle of Paris, the Notre Dame Cathedral had turned into a pyre, and amidst the bits of smouldering rubble and hot ash, Aziraphale sauntered vaguely downwards from its massive doors.

“It’s a disaster,” he said gloomily. “Utterly, hopelessly destroyed.”

The Demon Crowley, equally invisible to the rest of the world, was leaning against the hood of his Bentley. Behind his sunglasses it was difficult to guess at any expression of emotion, but his crossed arms betrayed his uninspired disposition. 

“It’s just a bunch of old bricks, Angel…” answered dismissively. “Shall we be off?”

“It’s not just a bunch of…!” Aziraphale exclaimed, his sorrow leaping into angry outbursts. “It was over 800 years old! A monument to humanity! All that work in vain.”

“I was there, Crowley. I… I met the builders and the masons. We were friends! They had lives, they had dreams, and now… All this power, and we can’t even travel through time!”

Before he could finish, however, the Demon had slipped past him, headed for the doors of the cathedral. By the time Aziraphale came after him, Crowley had entered the hulking carcass, disappearing into the smoke.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale shouted, running after him. He quickly caught up with his friend, who had assumed the role of a tour guide, jumping about the place because the still-hallowed ground, its holiness not disturbed by the fire, hurt is demonic feet.

“There!” he said, pointing towards a dark corner. “1805, Napoleon’s coronation. We watched the whole thing. I noted that it was a cynical contravention of republican values. You noted that his mantle was passé”

“It _was_ passé,” Aziraphale noted.

“…And there, the Rose Windows. Marvellous pieces, still standing. And then the organs, only added in 1730. This brings back memories, doesn’t it?”

“Even a human life is finite,” Crowley added, still strolling carelessly past rubble and ash.

“Just because something ends does not mean it was never worth something. This cathedral, its memory, will always be a monument to humanity. The work of its builders will never be in vain. And…”

From the other bank of the Seine came flowing, like the song of evening birds, the singing of Parisians. The Lord’s Prayer, just like it had been sung upon the cathedral’s consecration. A song Aziraphale had sung with them.

“As long as they sing, nothing will have been in vain.” 


End file.
